Orcs and Ogres

[Revax]

Revax ran as fast as he could, his adolescent legs spinning like wheels underneath him. The ogre's tiny brain had been crushed by the rock Revax had used during his surprise leap from one of the huts. But they were too many, and the rest of the orcs lay dead, and his parents, among them.
"Damn them, damn them all", he thought to himself, the adrenalin still blocking any kind of mournful thoughts.

The tribe which Revax was born into, was a small tribe on the outskirts of orc society. The reason? Draenic blood. Revax's mother was half Draenei, and those of half-orc decent were often shunned by the others, even though the peaceful relations with Draenei at this time, and as such they formed small tribes far away from the big clans. Revax was a very young orc, not having any spiritual gifts, much to the disapointment of his Far Seer father. However, he had a knack for making various shamanistic conoctations, such as healing droughts and poisons. These skills did not come in handy today.

On this day the tribe had been plundered by a large pack of drunken ogre's and their gronn lord

He disappeared into the bushage, out of sight and quickly hid himself in the barrel that was located there. He had hid it there, as a boy; master of hide and seek. Now he hoped the ogre's wouldnt find him. He could hear their hideous laughter and mocking for hours. Soon sleep would find its way into Revax's mind, having grown weary from holding off the tears.

The next morning, Revax had woken up to the sound of battle. He had dared himself to peek over the top of the barrel, pushing aside a few of the branches so that he could see. A warband of orcish worg-riders had tracked the ogres and followed them here and engaged them in battle. Revax heart instantly filled with the opportunity of vengeance.

Without any further thoughts, Revax flung himself from the barrel and ran as silently as he could past the raging battle between orcs and ogre, hoping to be unnoticed, hoping to reach his family's hut. Just outside the hut, two orcs were wrestling down an ogre, one of them managed to pin it down, while the other called on his worg to come and rip the ogre's face off: and it did, it was overkill, blood gushing forth all over the other orc. Revax face got grim from disgust, but he relished the sight of the dead ogre.

The orcs rushed off to join the main part of the fray, and thus gave Revax the opening he needed.

Well inside, Revax was looking for his father's secret stash of poisons, he knew were it was, however, it was dug fairly deep beneath the hardened the clay. It took half a horn to dig it up, but there it was. A small jar containing the most potent poison his father knew off, it was very rare and very deadly.

Revax's heart hardened. He had to avenge his tribe, but he was afraid. He walked outside, slowly. The battle was still raging a fair few huts down the village. He set his eyes on the largest figure ahead. It was the gronn leading the ogre warband. He had seen gronns before, from distance, they were giants, arms as tall as any orc, fists larger than an ogres belly. Luckily this gronn was not among the larger ones, and it was hunched down, fighting an orc who could be no other than the leader of the worg-riders here.

The adrenalin started kicking in again, fear and anger both flickering in Revax's eyes. Then he saw it. A corpse pile containing the bodies of the fallen villagers. His mothers dead eyes leering back at him.

Revax charged the gronn lord with a terrible blood fury, the orc leader had just been beaten to his knees and Revax used his back to gain a leaping momentum and flew straight into the face of the gronn, smashing the jar of poison right in its mouth. The gronn grabbed both of Revax's arms and broke them, and suddenly, both Revax and the gronn fell to the ground. The gronn was dead, and Revax unconsious.